Dirge
by Soladwi
Summary: Reality always had her way, and Greed hung on. Tsunade contemplates the death of a shinobi. One Shot


Tsunade frowned, the effect barely visible on her deceptively youthful face

"Send him in."

Tsunade frowned, the effect barely visible on her deceptively youthful face. A face that had seen its share, and then some, of life's misfortune. Time and time again Tsunade found herself at the bottom, trapped in the damp cellar of despair, sure of no way out, when-

Sighing, the Fifth rubbed her fingers in small circles on her forehead. The seemingly mundane task was actually medic justsu in work, she was strategically – when in her life wasn't she?- sending in little pricks of chakra intended to release stress. Her efforts went unheeded, however, and Tsunade felt that no relief would be forthcoming.

The hospital room was, at first glance, unlike any other. The drab, white bed set against the medium sized window, bereft of even a curtain, was covered in sheets crisply painful to the eye. A small nightstand made of simple oak rested beside it, on top sat a woven basket of various fruits, cheerfully bringing color to the otherwise plain room. The floor was tiled wood, and set in a diagonal pattern that seemed to shift if you stared at it too much. A hanging curtain was pulled back to one side, the tracks it followed along the gray popcorn ceiling showing that it could be pulled around to cover the bed if need be. Along the other side of the room, the only contrast to a boring beige colored wall was a small dresser, large enough only for three drawers, the simple things patients insisted on keeping with them. It was the same type and shade of wood as the nightstand.

She looked again.

Detailed examination would reveal the small note hastily shoved into the basket of fruit, covered in drawings and doodles, names sprayed everywhere. It had been put together hastily but surely as if the giver, or givers, had been sure that the patient would have need of it when they awoke.

Upon closer inspection the wood on the dresser was revealed to be a bit lighter, yet it had more knots in it, the warped swirls somehow adding more color and _Reality_ to the wood. The Hokage smiled grimly. Reality. That was the root problem of all this. It was simply Reality that had pushed the Hokage to send a lower ranked chunin on a jounin level mission. Sure, it had been an almost borderline mission, but she had trusted in him, in the fact that nearly all his team-mates would have been capable had they been available. He must have been as well.

It was Reality that had paused Tsunade's hand, or rather, hadn't. When the mission report had come in, that somehow he had completed it only to collapse at the gates to the village, it was Reality that told the Fifth Hokage he was only a chunin, that both Shizune and Sakura were currently on duty at the hospital, that they would be able to fix him right up. She was Hokage, and swept along in a sense of duty Tsunade knew that the border agreement in her hands really couldn't wait until morning, to do so would surely cost at least a couple lives in border skirmishes.

It was Reality then, that _he_, the hero, had come in, soon followed by the best friend, naturally, and pleaded for her help. They didn't understand why she wasn't there, in the hospital, helping like they wanted to. _Only you_, they said.

_For the better good_, she wanted to plead right back, but Tsunade looked in his eyes and right away knew it wouldn't work. After all, how could she expect anyone to listen to someone who wouldn't even listen to themselves?

The truth, she dimly realized, even as she set aside the papers and grabbed her coat, was the problem.

And the problem, Tsunade mused, was Reality. She had stayed her hand, waited, and contemplated, all in the time it could have taken to already perform whatever procedure necessary. She wanted to say that it was because he wasn't as important, as well known, as _needed_- but it wasn't Reality that spoke the words. It was long time friend Greed. It had been Reality that dimply computed the report in her mind-

_Unknown number of broken ribs, lung probably punctured, collar bone snapped twice, coughing blood, gash on forehead stretching from tip of left eyebrow to center of head, wound in right side_

-but Greed told her to stay out. _Don't get involved_, it murmured. _There's bound to be more. And you know it's lost_. She wanted to argue, but for once, Reality agreed. Greed once again took control, firmly and immobilizing. _You don't want to go. When it ends, and you have another life on your hands, then where will you be? What will it do to you?_

But the hero had come to save the day, and what could the villain do but surrender? That was how storybooks were supposed to go, and so filled with a sense of purpose Tsunade had abandoned Greed to the best of her ability and followed the hero on the hopeless quest.

And now the treasure had been lost, swallowed whole by the dragon called Reality. And Greed could only laugh.

Now, sitting in that stiff backed chair provided by the hospital, Tsunade attempted to pull it back in, the center the Greed once more around herself like armor. She didn't deserve to feel this way anymore, she explained to it. Hadn't she filled her life's quota? But Greed refused to be persuaded, and pushed her away, leaving the Fifth with only remorse as her cover, the frayed edges of his ancient blanket doing little to keep out the cold.

And as she watched him, the best friend walk into the room and come to grips with Reality, who had never been a kind mistress, Tsunade dimly realized that she had been wrong. She had thought that the worst part would be watching the light go out in the hero's eyes as he realized that all had been for naught. She thought that accusations, yelling, screaming, that would be hard. But as Shikamaru turned to face her, his face devoid of even an attempt at looking expressionless, bowed to her and thanked her for her efforts then swiftly left the room-

_As if trying to escape Reality, but oh no, that was impossible. Even now she fancied that she could see the inky tendrils, reaching out towards the boy, pulling, sucking him in_

-Tsunade felt that _this_ was what she had been dreading; _this_ was the low she hadn't reached before.

For it was Reality that Chouji Akimichi was dead.


End file.
